Conversations With Myself
by TerraBerra
Summary: Harry wakes up one morning and finds himself in an alternate universe where no one's heard of Hogwarts or magic. No one believes him when he tells them about wizardry either. But is the problem with the rest of the world, or is it with Harry himself?
1. Conversations With an Aunt

A/N: I'm going to start a new story. Don't worry, I already have a couple chapters from this one typed up so updates won't be as long. I hope to be updating my other story (the one on my other account, TeeBee) shortly, either today or tomorrow, as soon as my beta gets back to me.

This one ... I don't think people are going to like it. But so far I don't think the idea's seriously been explored. I've read a couple fics with this storyline, but they're mostly all one-shots, really short, and .... bad. (No offense meant to anyone who writes fics where "it's all a dream", give me the name of yours and I'll be happy to read it!)

Disclaimer: Nothing in Harry Potter's world belongs to me.

Chapter 1 – Conversations with an Aunt

Harry Potter of number four, Privet Drive, tripped and tumbled down the stairs, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired. Seven o'clock was an ungodly hour to wake up, especially in the summer. Unfortunately, he had been awakened by his uncle's fuming and he hadn't been able to get back to sleep. Apparently the car wouldn't start.

"Up early, are we?" his aunt snapped from where she sat supping a mug of hot tea at the kitchen table.

_If only I was allowed to use my wand_, Harry thought. _I'd send a _silencio _her way and see how she likes it_.

"What did you just say to me?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"Nothing," Harry replied truthfully. "I didn't say anything."

"Liar," his aunt said, setting the mug down with a _thud_. You said you'd send a _silenco_ my way. Where'd you learn that appalling language, at St. Brutus'?"

Harry barely had time to wonder how she could read his thoughts before questioning his aunt's sanity. _She's still insisting that I go to that "Secure Center"? _

"I don't know what there is to be pretending about – you've been going to St. Brutus' for the past six years."

_How is she doing that? _

"Doing what?"

Deciding to forget about the mind-reading thing for a moment, Harry turned to the more pressing issue of his aunt.

"You know where I go to school – at Hog – at my school."

"I would assume that, yes, you go to school at your school," his aunt replied with a smirk. "And that would be St. Brutus'."

"Hogwarts," Harry corrected her, for once not caring what her response to hearing the name of his school would be.

"Hogwarts is hogwash! What an idiotic name!"

Dull laughter sounded from behind Harry. He swung around to see his porky cousin, Dudley, pointing at him and laughing.

"Idiot!" he snorted. "He's been moaning about Hogwarts in his sleep for years, Mum."

Aunt Petunia looked worried. "Why didn't you tell me about this, Diddydums?"

"Why would I? He's just a mental case."

"I am not!" Harry interjected. "Who got nine O.W.L.s, huh?"

"Where do you have room for nine owls?" Dudley leered at him. "You sleep in a cupboard …"

Harry's blood ran cold. "Do not. I moved out of there before I started at Hogwarts!"

"Back to this nonsense, are we?" Aunt Petunia muttered. She bit her lip and seemed to be deep in thought.

_What's wrong with them? _Harry thought frantically. _Why can't they remember any of it_?

"Because it never happened," Dudley laughed. "You're making stuff up."

"No-"

"Stop it, both of you," Aunt Petunia shrieked. "We'll take care of this when your father gets home. Com on, you." She stood up and pulled the almost-seventeen-year-old from the kitchen and into the front hall with absurd ease.

"Just stay in there and be a good boy today," she told Harry, as though she were talking to an especially dull five-year-old. "No more walking around the house. Like last night, you fell asleep on the floor in Dudley's second bedroom."

Harry gaped in horror as he was shut once more into the cramped space that he had occupied for most of his childhood. She wasn't … wasn't serious, was she?

Serious …

Sirius …

_If Sirius was here, he'd _murder _you, _he thought savagely. But Sirius wasn't here. Sirius had died last year, all because of him.

Faces flashed before his eyes … Alastor Moody, the best Auror in a hundred years, lying motionless with a steady stream of blood trickling down from his temple … Fudge, recovered from the rubble of the Ministry of Magic a moment too last … they hadn't found Arthur Weasley's body yet, but somehow his picture had vanished from Mrs. Weasley's grandfather clock … they had all died for him.

Him.

They had all given up their lives so he could sit in a cupboard like an animal?

A great fury rose within Harry, a fury at his helplessness. If he'd have been able to use his wand, he would never have been shut up in here.

"LET ME OUT!" he screamed, pounding on the door. He could hear the ancient hinges rattling. "I MEAN IT! IF YOU DON'T LET ME OUT THIS INSTANT I AM GOING TO SIC FLUFFY ON YOU!"

Aunt Petunia shrieked on the other side of the cupboard door. "Dudley!" she cried. "Run up the street to Mrs. Figg's for a few hours. I'm taking him back to St. Brutus'!"


	2. Conversations in the Car

**Disclaimer: Nothing in Harry Potter's world belongs to me, everything belongs to JK Rowling.**

**A/N: I wanted to post this last week, but the site was having problems. So here it is!!!**

**Chapter 2 – Conversations in the Car **

"What – what's going on?" Harry asked confusedly as the cupboard door was opened and he was pulled out by the wrists.

"You're leaving," his aunt said shortly. "I'm taking you back."

"Back? Back to Hog-"

"Enough of that nonsense, you're going back to St. Brutus'. Hurry up now, I'll send your things along later …"

She led him out of the house by the arm and hurried him into the back of the family car. No one talked as Aunt Petunia pulled out of the driveway and through town to the highway. They were about five minutes into their journey when Harry regained his power of speech.

"Why to St. Brutus'?"

She seemed surprised that he had spoken. "Where else? Would you rather I dump you on a street corner somewhere in London? Because I could do that too …"

"I mean – why not to my friends' houses? Hermione lives in London, you could take me there-"

"WHO lives in London?"

"Hermione Granger. Her family's normal and everything."

"I'm not going to stick someone else with a problem like you," she snapped. "Might as well give you to the people we pay to put up with you."

"_You _pay? I've paid for HOGWARTS out of my parents' money! You've never paid for anything –"

"Would you like to see the bills, Your Highness?" Aunt Petunia snapped. "We've been paying for St. Brutus', the least you could do is appreciate it. You don't have any money, and neither did your parents!"

"That's not-"

"What, did you think a witch came along, waved a magic wand, and gave them a fortune? Whatever they had – whish wasn't much – was left to us to look after you. Most of it's gone into food," she added.

"You're a liar!"

Aunt Petunia swerved dangerously around a car. Harry had never seen her so angry before. "The street corner offer still stands."

Harry shut up.

Forty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of a large brick building. Aunt Petunia parked the car, then pulled Harry out of his seat, across the parking lot, and up the stone front steps.

They entered the building. It had long, white corridors and no windows, but Harry had the strangest feeling that he'd been in that building before.

She dragged him over to a receptionist window and rang the bell impatiently. The woman took an exceptionally long time getting to them.

"Who ar ya lookin' fer?" she asked offhandedly.

"We're looking for a doctor," Aunt Petunia said. "A psychologyst? A psychiatrist? … someone to deal with mentals – like him!"

"I _am not_ mental," Harry insisted.

The recpetionist looked down kindly at him. "'Course ya aren't. I've seen ya around, Harry. Would ye like a lolly?"She picked up a can of lollipops and held them under his nose. Harry wrinkled his face.

"No thanks …"

The receptionist turned her attention back to Aunt Petunia. "Two flights up, third door on yer right," she said hurriedly. "Good luck." And with that she went back into her office.

"Where …?"

"This way," Harry said, leading his aunt around the corner to a flight of stairs. He couldn't have said how he knew it was there. Instinct, he supposed.

She marched quickly up the stairs, leaving Harry to trail behind. He considered running out; there was no one to stop him. He could leave … but how? He had no wizarding money, no wand, no Apparation license, and no broom.

And even if he had had a means of transportation, where would he go? He couldn't bear to see any red-haired freckle faces, not after what had happened in June. He wasn't even sure Mrs. Weasley would _want _to take him back – after all, she held no unconditional love for him, like a real parent. Hogwarts was out of the question as well; he would have a hard enough time returning for the new school year, there was no way he would subject himself to an extra month at the castle. Lupin's house – Remus's house – was destroyed, as was it's owner.

Too many dead, too many gone.

Harry hurried up the stairs after his aunt. She was waiting impatiently at the top of the staircase. "Hurry up," she snapped. "I've found the door, right through here. I'll go in and speak to the nice man first and he'll talk to you afterword. You sit here like a good boy and wait."

_There she goes again_, Harry thought. _Treating me like a little kid_.

There was something like pity in Aunt Petunia's eyes.

"Sit," she ordered gently, pointing to a row of plastic chairs. Harry sat. His aunt disappoeared behind a white door.

He didn't much like this building – St. Brutus'. It was too white and sterile for his tastes, not a thing like Hogwarts castle.

_Though maybe that's a good thing_, Harry mused, remembering all the years of heartbreak he and so many others had gone through within those ancient stone walls.

His aunt came back a few minutes later and ushered him into the room, which he could now see was an office. She gave him a brief and awkward embrace that was quickly broken.

"I'll send his things along tomorrow," she said to someone over Harry's shoulder before turning on her heel and waltzing out.

"Good morning, Harry," came a familiar voice.

Harry spun around. Across the room with one leg crossed casually over the other sat Albus Dumbledore.

A/N: read, enjoy, review!!


	3. Conversations With Dumbledore

A/N: So, who's excited about Half Blood Prince? 201 days left!!!!!

I really do have a life.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, locations, and situations belong to JK Rowling.

**Chapter 3 – Conversations with Dumbledore **

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry cried, fighting the impulse to dash across the room and give his headmaster a hug. Finally, someone would sort this all out, tell him why his aunt had gone crazy all of a sudden.

"Harry," he said with a twinkle in those clear blue eyes. "I'm flattered. You know I've never been a professor in my life."

_Why's he pretending_? Harry thought desperately.

"What am I pretending, Harry?"

"Dumbledore," he insisted, "it's me. She's gone. You don't have to pretend not to know me anymore."

"Not know you?" Dumbledore said, a look of confusion on his face. "Harry, I'd like to think we've gotten close over the years."

"So … why are you saying you aren't a professor?"

"Because I'm not. May I ask you a question?"

"I guess," Harry said uncertainly. Was Dumbledore touched in the head? Albus Dumbledore insane – now that was a scary thought.

"Why are you calling me 'Dumbledore'?"

"Because you don't want me to call you 'Professor'."

He smiled at Harry. "My name is Ogden Rami, Harry. Dr. Rami. Don't you remember?"

He stared in horror at his headmaster. Was this a trick of Voldemort's? How could _Dumbledore _not know who he was?

"May I ask you another question?" Dumbledore didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Who is Dumbledore?"

"You are," Harry said, searching his mind for a way to break whatever spell Voldemort had put over his world. Strangely, he kept drawing blanks, despite the intensive Defense training Dumbledore had given him over the past year.

"I mean … what is he?"

"Headmaster at Hogwarts," Harry replied. "The only one Voldemort ever feared. The best … _Don't you remember_?"

"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore sighed wearily. When Harry had seated himself, the older man asked, "What do Hogwarts and Voldemort mean?"

Harry was on the verge of answering, but something inexplicable stopped him.

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. Just how much did Dumbledore know about himself? Maybe he fancied himself a muggle in this alternate universe.

"I am Ogden Rami, head 'counselor' at St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. You've been here in my office at least once a year ever since you started here six years ago. As I've said before, I'd like to think we've become good friends. Would you like to tell me about yourself?"

"Look, Professor –"

"Please, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "No more pretending. Can we at least agree that I'm not a professor?"

"Yeah – whatever," Harry said. "Look, Mr. … this might be a shock, but I'm a wizard. A real one. I have a wand and everything." To prove his point, Harry pulled his wand out of his back pocket.

"And – you're a wizard too. The headmaster at Hogwarts - that's the wizard school I go to. But you got the part about me being in your office a lot right. We'd talk once a year, at least. About important things."

"I see. And what have I told you?"

"'It does not do to dwell on dreams.' 'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.' 'Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.' 'The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with caution.' 'It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.' 'The consequences of our actions are always so complex, so diverse …' 'You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us?'"

"You can say those things off by heart," remarked Dumbledore. "You look up to this man?"

"I used to," Harry replied. "Before he – before you stopped telling me things."

"Things like 'It is far more our choices that show who we are'?"

"No – things about –" Harry glared suspiciously at the man who looked so much like Dumbledore, yet recollected nothing about the wizarding world. Now that he came to think of it, the man in front of him could be anyone – could even be a death eater in disguise. And after what happened to Sirius when Harry's personal information had been given out, Harry was usually very careful about giving out too much information about himself to strangers.

_But he's _not_ a stranger_.

"Harry? Things about what?"

"I don't know if I can trust you," he replied. Then Hermione's words, spoken so long ago, came floating back to him. 'If we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone.' Harry looked into the older man's light-blue eyes. He was still Dumbledore, wasn't he? Still the only one he could trust.

"Things about … what Voldemort's planning with me," Harry continued slowly.

"The truth. What's really going on with the war."

"Voldemort?"

Harry cleared his throat. "He – I don't want to talk about it."

"He's bad? And planning something with you?"

"Always," Harry said. "He's always – I'm the only thing keeping him from world domination, you see, and he wants to –"

Harry stared down at his knees. _He killed everyone I love to get to me_.

"Everyone? You surely can't believe that. I care about you and I'm still here."

Harry snapped his head up. "How are you doing that?" he demanded. "How can you read my thoughts?"

"Oh – were you thinking?"

"Of course."

"You were talking out loud, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"With – without realizing it?"

"Apparently."

_Just like Kreacher_, Harry thought with dread, remembering the demented house-elf.

"Which creature?"

Harry just stared at Dumbledore's wizened face in horror.

_I'm not demented, am I? _

"Let's not call it 'demented'," Dumbledore said. "Let's call it … special."


	4. Conversations With Hermione

A/N: I've been a bit lax with these lately, haven't I? Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed! It really makes my day!

Oh - and look closely at Hermione's phone number and see if you notice anything about it!

Disclaimer: I've been getting lax with these also. Everything Harry quoted from Dumbledore in the previous chapter came from Harry Potters 1-3. The trusting Dumbledore line was in ... book four or five, I'm not sure. Either way, those quotes are owned by JK Rowling, as is Harry Potter and his universe.

Chapter 4 – Conversations With Hermione

"I'm not … _special_," Harry said. "I mean," he hurried on, not wanting to be labeled as having an extremely low self esteem, "I guess I'm special, but not in _that_ way."

May I see your wand for a moment, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, reaching out for it.

"What are you going to do with it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Just look, that's all, I promise."

'_If we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone._'

Harry handed over his wand. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches.

Dumbledore examined it closely.

After a long moment, the older man looked up at Harry, something like sadness burning in his eyes.

"Might I ask where you got this?"

"At a magic shop," Harry said, taking it upon himself to re-introduce Dumbledore to the wizarding world. "Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since 382 BC.

"Harry – this is a stick."

"What? No it's not! Look, I'll show you!"

Harry was halfway out of his seat when he remembered.

"Oh, I can't do magic now – it's summer."

"Excuse me?"

"Underaged wizards aren't allowed to do magic outside school," Harry explained patiently.

"I see," Dumbledore said, marking something down on a piece of paper.

"But I really _can_ do magic," Harry insisted. "I got nine OWLs!"

"Owls?"

"They're tests," he said. "Standardized tests. The most you can get is twelve."

"So you did well, then?"

"Suppose."

Dumbledore continued taking notes. "Now, I think we need to discuss the issue of where you're going to stay this summer. You can stay at the school for a few weeks, but it would be nice for you to get out of here for the summer.

"I … don't have anywhere to go," Harry said haltingly.

"Your parents had no friends? _You_ have no friends?"

Harry stiffened. "My dad had three friends, two are dead and one – Hermione!"

"Pardon?"

"Hermione Granger – my friend," Harry cried excitedly. "I have her number right here, I always carry it around, just in case." Harry pulled a slip of paper out of his back pocket. "May I – use your phone?"

"By all means."

"Harry reached over to the desktop phone and dialed 302-723. He fiddled with the card as it rang once … twice … three times … the fourth ring was cut short and he heard Hermione's familiar voice on the line.

"Hello?"

There was music playing in the background – and it didn't sound like Celestina Warbeck or the Weird Sisters – and the sound of girls giggling.

"It's me! You won't believe this, everything's changed –"

"Who is this?"

Harry was taken aback. He waved off the unease stirring in his stomach. True, he'd never called her before, maybe his voice was different on the phone. "It's Harry."

"Harry …?"

"Potter."

"Do I know you?"

"Hermione, we've only been best friends for six years. Listen, I'm in a bit of trouble and was wondering if –"

"How did you get this number?" Hermione shrieked. The girls in the background had stopped laughing.

"You gave it to me!"

"Don't you dare call here again!" Hermione cried, slamming down the receiver forcefully.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore, dazed. "She – she hung up on me," he whispered." She didn't even recognize me!"

Dumbledore nodded as though he understood. "Come, Harry," he said, "let me take you to your dormitory. We'll sort this all out tomorrow."

Harry moved as if in a dream. Hermione, _Hermione_, had hung up the phone on him. She'd slammed the phone down as if he was something dreadful to talk to. Or worse, someone not worth her time.

And maybe he wasn't. Not in the alternate universe where Dumbledore worked at St. Brutus', Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon paid for his school, and Hermione didn't want to talk to him.

His insides numb, Harry let himself be led out of Dumbledore's office, down a long white hallway, and into another room that he somehow _knew_ was supposed to be his dormitory. The beds were made of iron painted white and were covered with brown bedspreads.

"I'll see you at lunch," Dumbledore said, closing the door and leaving Harry all alone.

* * *


	5. Conversations With Petrovitch

A/N: I know this is short. I hope to have another chapter up either today or tomorrow, and my winter vacation starts at the end of this week, so I'll have lots more time to work on this.

I had originally planned for Harry to have real psychological problems. But then I started doubting myself. Could I really make Harry crazy? Could I really do this?

But, no, this is not a trick of Voldemort's, it's the real deal.

Bear in mind that this is not "real" psychology. I'm just a high school student who is not even in a Psych class. I have not done any research into psychological disorders whatsoever.

I'm sure you can guess who Petrovitch is.

Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed, you really make my day.

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter universe belongs to me.

Conversations With Petrovitch

_Dear Mr. Petrovitch, _

_Iam writing to you concerning the son of your late friend, James Potter. Harry has a psychological condition I wish to speak to you about, in person if possible. I am not yet sure of the extent of the damage done to him due to the neglect he has received, but I am sure it would be significant. Harry has shut himself steadfastedly inside a dream world, most probably to block out the horrible events that were taking place in his real life at the time. Over the next few weeks, I hope to have him open up to me about this dream life. _

_I understand that Sam Black, Harry's original godfather, passed on one year ago. With the recent, tragic death of Robert Lucas, the "backup" godfather, if you will, you are the "next in line" for guardianship of Harry. _

_You might wish to know what this entails. I would like to insist that Harry remain at school for a few more weeks so I can moniter him, but it would be best for him to be moved into a family setting as soon as possible. He will, of course, return to school in the fall. I am aware of your recent divorce, and rest assured that whatever you and your daughers are going through will not harm Harry's progress in any way. In fact, Harry is a wonderful, caring boy, who seems to enjoy comforting others in times of need. Having him observe the healing process would be most helpful. _

_Harry's world is falling apart around him; what he needs now is love and care. I must ask you not take on this task if you are not up to it. Negative results could destroy the boy. _

_If this endeavor fails, I hardly need to tell you that it will be nearly impossible for Harry to lead a productive adult life. Make your choice wisely. Remember, it is our choices that show what we truly are._

_ Hoping to hear from you soon,_

_ Ogden Rami _


	6. Conversations With Harry

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed so far. Crazed Marmet, I think I'm going to stick with a genuine "Harry going crazy" story, simply because I've never seen one done before. Again, if anybody has any recommendations, let me know.**

**Actually, Wytil, I only know what I read in a really sad book called Becoming Anna, which is about mental facilities and was written in 2000. I'm glad things have changed, but for the sake of the story, I'm pretending St. Brutus' is stuck in the "old days".**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling.**

Conversations With Harry

"And what's this, Harry?"

Harry looked up at Dumbledore. "It's pictures," he said. "Pictures of my parents, of me as a baby, their friends …"

"I see." But Dumbledore did not appear very much interested.

Harry wondered, not for the first time that week, why he was sharing all this with Dumbledore. After all, this man had no recollection of the wizarding world whatsoever, or so he maintained.

But doubts still lingered in his mind. What if Dumbledore was just pretending to have lost his mind so Harry would tell him what he felt?

What if this was just a psychologist trick, like all those others his headmaster was so fond of?

What if Dumbledore was lying to him?

What if he had called Hermione beforehand and told her to pretend not to recognize him?

What if Dumbledore was working with Voldemort?

Harry looked into the man's clear blue eyes as horror rose like bile in his throat.

"Harry?"

Even the sound of the old man's calming, patient voice both infuriated and terrified him at the same time.

'If we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone.'

Hermione had said those words long ago. But, said a small voice in the back of his mind, this wasn't the same Dumbledore he had known; it wasn't the same Hermione either. Harry wondered absently whether Ron was the same as he had always been, or whether he had changed as well.

"Harry? This is such an interesting book. Wherever did you get it?"

Harry took in every feature of the old man's face. He felt like he would trust this man anyway, even if he wasn't really the Dumbledore he had always known.

Dumbledore was the first person this summer to actually show some interest in what he had to say.

"Hagrid gave it to me," he finally answered. "At the end of my first year, when I was in the Hospital Wing. He made it himself, sent away for pictures of my Mum and Dad because-"

Ogden Rami watched as the almost-seventeen-year-old squirmed in front of him. Rami shifted his gaze down to the homemade photo album with sadness.

He didn't know how Harry viewed the book; perhaps leather-bound, with gilded edges. But … this album …

It wasn't much of an album, really. Just several sheets of computer paper folder in half down the middle, stapled on the crease. On each page of the "book" were drawings, a child's drawings. Featured often was a stick figure with long, red hair and another stick figure with black hair drawn on with marker that was sticking out in all directions.

Rami looked down at Harry again. He realized that the boy had never finished his sentence.

"He sent away for the pictures because …?" Rami prompted.

"Because I didn't have any," whispered Harry, perched tenderly on the edge of his seat, as though fearing rebuke.

"And what might this be?" Dumbledore's tone was light, casual. He was not going to get in any trouble. So Harry told him.

"That's my dad's old Invisibility Cloak," he explained proudly, fingering the cloak on his lap. "It makes you invisible when you put it on. Ron and Hermione and I snuck off lots of times underneath it."

Rami shook his head and shut his eyes while Harry rambled on about the "Invisibility Cloak". He could almost see the cloak taking shape before his eyes; it was silver in color, very long, made of fluid material.

This wondrous Invisibility Cloak could not contrast more with what was really sitting, folded neatly, on Harry's lap. It was a baby blanket, faded blue with little yellow bunnies, and barely larger than the teen's torso.

Rami recalled with sadness the night a few years ago when he had been awoken in the early hours of the morning by a loud crash coming from the basement of St. Brutus'. He had rushed downstairs and into the kitchen. A box full of pots and pans had fallen to the floor. There was little damage done, but what had worried Rami the most was that the child the child who had caused the commotion – Harry – had not tried to run or even to hide himself; he had stood right in the middle of the room with his little blanket thrown over his head.

He'd seemed surprised when he'd been caught.

Rami knew from long, _long_ conversations with Harry's aunt, that the blanket was Harry's only connection to the past. And what a past it was!

James and Lydia Potter had not been expecting a child. According to their friends, Lydia had not been pleased to learn that she was expected to quit drinking and smoking, at least while she was pregnant. Harry had been born July 31, and by the following day, the couple had started drinking again. The family had lived on and off welfare – mostly on – for Harry's first fifteen months. James had tried to hold a steady job, but none of them had ever worked out.

On Halloween 1981, James and Lydia had taken Harry out to a party hosted by one of their friends, Robert Lucas. Peter Petrovitch and Sam Black had also attended. The party had lasted past midnight, and all the guests had then proceeded to drive home – drunk.

The Potters' car had been hit by another drunk driver. The elder two were killed impact. Harry had escaped with a curiously shaped scar and minor head injuries.

Soon, it became clear that the drunk driver was none other than Sam Black – James' best friend. Although he was unharmed, Black was sentenced to four years in prison, while Harry was sent to live with his aunt and uncle.

Rami pulled himself out of the past and struggled to pay attention to what Harry was saying.

"… Aunt Petunia said they got killed in a car crash, but I know better," he said proudly. "They died protecting me."

"Did they now?" Rami remarked, hoping Harry wouldn't detect the pain in his voice. But he did nothing to dispel that myth.


	7. Conversations With Peter

A/N: My beta and I are going through the previous chapters - VERY slowly. I may post updated versions in a few weeks. Again, thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed - it really is what keeps me going with this story!

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter universe belongs to me.

**Chapter 7 – Conversations With Peter **

Not many teachers stayed at St. Brutus' over the summer. It was merely lucky coincindence that Rami had chosen the morning Petunia Dursley had taken her nephew back to school to come in and do some paperwork.

Now that Harry was at school, Rami knew he couldn't leave. He'd spent the past week in one of the staff apartments he typically occupied during the school year. It was spacious enough, but Rami had wanted to cisit his daughter and her two sons that summer. So he was therefore rather pleased when Peter Petrovitch called St.

Brutus' one week after Harry had threatened his aunt.

"Is this Ogden Rami?"

"Speaking," Rami said, picking up a pencil and starting a crude doodle of a stick figure on a pad of paper in his office. It was just after lunch, and he had just left Harry in the communal living room to watch TV.

"This is Peter Petrovitch. You wrote to me earlier in the week, about Harry?"

"Ah. Yes. I know you live rather far out, but I was hoping you and I could get together sometime soon to discuss the matter."

* * *

"You think he's been living in a dream world?"

"Not just living," Rami corrected. "And not just _any_ dream world either." The two men were sitting in a dimly lit London pub that smelled damp and smoky. Rami gazed across the table, examining Peter closely. He was short and stout and, amusingly enough, had a head shaped a bit like a teapot. The perfect embodiment of that childhood rhyme, he was. But there was something about his eyes, the way they shifted uneasily from side to side, endlessly searching for an invisible escape route from … from what?

"What do you mean?" the man called Peter Petrovitch asked nervously.

"From what he's told me," Rami said, "I think that Harry's been taking events in his life and 'translating' them, shall we we say, into a dream world.

"I only just recently learned of the way Harry's been treated at his aunt and uncle's home, and this treatment seems to fit in with everything else. He was made to feel powerless and unimportant, so in his dream world, he was the all-powerful savior. The adults in hislife who should have cared for him – namely, your late friends – had no good reason not to do so, do Harry made up their stories in his mind: Sam Black was on the run from the law, and Robert Lucas was, I believe, a warewolf."

Peter shook his head sadly and stirred his Bloody Mary with a straw. "Surely he knows this world of his isn't _real_. All children need an imaginary world they can escape to at times, but they grow out of it."

"I don't think he has," said Rami. "His world is one in which anything is possible – the shy's the limit. From what I could gather, I think he believes a man named Voldemort cast a spell over the whole world that made everyone but him forget the truth."

"Witches and wizards?"

"The lot of them. Harry's dream world has no rational limitations – as I said, his "magic" can produce anything, even explain away common events that take place in _this _world."

"Such as-?"

"Shrinking keys," Rami said with an amused, albeit sad smile. "An extremely clever wizard product that looks like an ordinary set of keys that, er, shrinks. That's why we lose keys so often, you see, they keep _shrinking_. Rather ingenius on his part, in my opinion."

Peter let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Wow." He turned away from Rami, staring across the pub at a snogging couple, apparently thinking hard.

"I'd like to meet him before I make a decision …"

"Of course."

"And I'll have to talk to my daughters and see what they think …"

"I completely understand. Shall we proceed to the school now?"

* * *

The St. Brutus' secretary had always liked the Potter boy. There was something compelling and endearing about his bright green eyes, dark shock of hair, and the set expression he always wore. She had no problem watching him when Dr. Rami wanted to go "out on the town" with Peter Petrovitch.

"Would ya like another lolly, Harry?" she asked, pulling a bright red lollipop out of a tin decorated with pictures of small, white puppies.

"Yes, thanks," Harry said, accepting the rock-hard candy. But when he thought she wasn't looking, he stuck it in his back pocket.

He'd had too much experience with her treats.

* * *

"Sylvia!"

Sylvia-the-secretary left her desk and went out ino the hall to see who had called her.

"Dr. Rami," she said, nodding her head in greeting. "What can I do for ya?"

"Sylvia, could you please bring Harry out into the hall?" asked Rami. "There's someone waiting upstairs that I'd like him to meet."

"O'course, Doctor."

Sylvia poked her head into her office. "Harry, come on out here, there's a good lad. There's someone Dr. Rami wants you to meet."

* * *

Harry went into the hall, but there was no one unfamiliar waiting there, just the secretary and Dumbledore. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Dumbledore had anticipated the question. "He's waiting upstairs in my office. Come, let's walk up together."

Harry nodded his agreement. The two walked down the hallway, turned the corner, and started up the stairs.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "this is hopefully the man that will take you home with him in a few weeks."

Harry looked up in shock. "But … my things! They're at home!"

"I thought your aunt sent everything –"

"No, she didn't get whatever was under the loose floorboard upstairs."

"I'll let her know. But Harry, surely you don't want to go back to the Dursleys!"

They had come to a full stop in front of Dumbledore's office.

"Of course I don't," Harry said incredulously. "But I have to. Blood protection magic. You said so. That's why I can't ever leave them."

Dumbledore was looking sadly at him. "Harry … I'm sorry. I truly didn't know how hard it was there. Of course you can leave."

"It's safe?"

"It's safe."

Harry smiled. "All right! Let's meet this guy!" he said eagerly.

Dumbledore smiled back and pushed the office door open.

* * *

"Hello, Harry."

Harry appeared frozen. His eyes were wide in a terrified expression.

"Harry?"

"_Peter Pettigrew_," he breathed, shaking his head disbelievingly from side to side.


	8. Conversations Born From Anger

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter universe belongs to me.

A/N: I'm sooooo sorry that this chapter is so short and that it's taken so long to get up. I've been so caught up with schoolwork that it's been really hard to get any writing done. Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed and to everyone who is still keeping up with this story.

Chapter 8 - Conversations Born From Anger

Peter Petrovitch shared a bewildered look with Dr. Rami. "Is there … does he have a … behavior problem as well?"

Dr. Rami frowned. "No – he's generally a very sweet boy." The doctor got up and hurried out, letting the door bounce off the wall. Peter watched as he ran out into the waiting room and then into the hall in pursuit of Harry. He was beginning to have second thoughts about taking in James and Lydia's son.

"Harry?"

Ogden Rami ran through the halls, displaying much more agility than he should have at his age.

_I never volunteered for this_! he thought angrily. _All I wanted was to spend a nice quiet summer with Alice and the grandkids – I come in to do a bit of paperwork and suddenly I end up a babysitter!_

_Better me than someone else_, Rami reminded himself.

Although St. Brutus's was a school for "problem kids", it had been clear to all the staff upon Harry's arrival that Harry should not have been sent there. He was quiet, well mannered, and polite – which was more than could be said for the other boys, or for the girls at St. Agnes (their sister school) either.

The only troubling thing about Harry had been the way he was … so quiet. He never talked, not even in class when he was called on. None of the other boys would talk to him, so Harry remained in solitude.

The first time Harry had been brought into the counselor's office for a regular "checkup" was the first real indication the staff had found that something was amiss. The records said that Harry had begun spewing nonsense – something about "owls", "feathers", "troll", and "Quidditch".

The counselor had asked Harry to elaborate, but he hadn't seemed to hear her. Harry had continued his babbling until the counselor, frightened, asked him to leave.

Or, in Rami's opinion, shoved him out the door with a "Suggested Treatment" slip shoved into his hand.

News of Harry's "insanity" spread, and the counselors decided that it was all a ploy for attention. So they gave it to him – in the form of extra detentions and punishments – many physically grueling, and some humiliating. His teachers were instructed to insist that he speak up in class.

And the more they pressed, the more Harry withdrew.

"Harry!" Rami called, hurrying up to flights of stairs to Harry's dorm, hoping to find him there. But the dorm was empty.

"Harry, where are you?" Rami whispered anxiously as he ran back downstairs. _Maybe he's in the lounge_, he thought desperately.

And there he was – sitting in his favorite chair by the television, breathing hard and watching the screen avidly.

"Harry?"

"It's Pettigrew!" the dark-haired boy burst out. "Peter Pettigrew. I thought you believed me about him, Dumbledore! Or is it really someone from the Order," he asked sarcastically, "pretending to be Pettigrew so the idiot Ministry will let him take care of me?"

Rami approached the chair. The television wasn't on, but Harry kept his eyes trained to it as if the most riveting program in the world was being broadcast. "Harry, this pretending has got to stop."

"_What_ pretending?"

"Harry, you _have_ to stop this act. You know as well as I that this world you've created for yourself is not real." Not necessarily true, but if he repeated this enough times, Harry would have no choice but to believe him.

Harry drew a deep, shuddering breath. "You sound like Uncle Vernon."

"That's because he was telling the _truth_, Harry."

"HE WAS NOT!" Harry yelled "MAGIC IS _REAL_!"

"Certain kinds of magic are," said Rami patiently. "The magic of a waterfall or sunset. The magic of music. The magic of friendship and the magic of falling in love. And … the magic of family."

"My family's dead."

Rami shook his head. "We can always make our own family. We want you to have a special place with Peter and his daughters."

"With that _murderer_?"

Rami sighed. "You know what?" he said softly. "I'd love to believe you. I really would. But the fact remains that you still haven't shown me any magic."

"I _can't_," Harry reminded him. "Not until I'm seventeen."

"And isn't it your birthday soon?"

Harry's eyes grew wide. "Thursday."

"There you are," said Rami. "Let's strike a deal, shall we? You can stay here until your birthday, and then if you can't do magic, you'll move in with Mr. Petrovitch. All right?"

"All right," Harry said, sighing. "Okay. Till Thursday. But I don't want to see … that man until then. Deal?"

"It's a deal."

"I don't know if I can do this," Peter confided to Dr. Rami. "I loved James and Lydia like my own brother and sister – I don't think I could stand it if Harry thought I was responsible for their deaths."

"Please, we just need to wait a little while longer," Dr. Rami pleaded. "Just until after his birthday. I'm sure things will go much smoother after that."

"I just don't think I can do this to Anna and Michelle right now. They're really upset over Dana leaving, and –"

"-I understand," Dr. Rami cut in. "You have to take care of your own life first. But I think taking care of Harry will be just the thing to help them out."

"Possibly. I'll have to talk it over with them before I decide anything."

"Of course. Do you think you could come back on … Friday afternoon?"

"Definitely," Peter replied.

"Would it be possible for your older daughter to come along as well?"

"I'll see if Anna wants to," promised Peter. "I hope everything works out for Harry."

"So do I," said Dr. Rami. "I just thought you should know – you're Harry's last option."

Peter grimaced sadly. "Doesn't give me much of a choice, now does it?"


	9. Convincing Conversations

AN: I am really sorry for the incredibly long wait between postings (on all stories). Now that school's over and I've improved my writing skills (a lot, I'd like to think), I'm hoping to update more quickly. Thank you for sticking with me, and a special thanks to every who's already reviewed!

**Chapter 9: Convincing Conversations**

Harry and Dumbledore sat together on the floor of the dormitory. They silently watched the clock on the wall as it ticked closer and closer to midnight.

Harry was excited. Something was going to happen tonight. He knew it. Once he turned seventeen and Dumbledore saw the magic Harry could do, he would finally be convinced that there really was a magical world. Maybe Dumbledore would even remember some of the magic that Voldemort's spell had taken away from him. Maybe he would know how to undo the curse Voldemort had put on Harry …

* * *

Ogden Rami waited patiently. Neither he nor Harry said a word. Once Harry saw that there was no such thing as magic, they could move him in with the Petrovitches, no questions asked and certainly no resistance. And if Rami had anything to say about it, Harry would never be sent to this school again. 

Finally, the minute hand and the hour hand were lined up.

Harry took a deep breath. "It's my birthday," he said simply.

Rami nodded. "Yes, I know, Harry. Go on. Show me something! I've been dying to see some of it."

"Right." Harry picked up the stick that had been lying by his side for the past hour. "Ready?"

"Why don't you tell me what you're going to do beforehand?" Rami asked. "Just so I won't be too surprised when it happens."

"Okay," Harry said in a complacent tone of voice. He'd waited days; he could wait a few minutes more. "Well, this is something _really_ advanced. It's called a Patronus. It's supposed to keep these horrible creatures away from you if they attack. It always takes an original animal form for each wizard."

"What's your form?"

"A stag."

"Hmmm," Rami said, pretending to take this ridiculous notion seriously. "Well, let's see it!"

Harry got to his feet and moved to the center of the dorm. He stood still for several minutes, and while he did so, a sudden thought struck Rami. What if Harry was _right_ and a giant stag shot out of his "wand"?

That would be surprising.

To say the least.

Harry screwed up his eyes, pulled the stick up in the air, and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Nothing happened.

Harry didn't open his eyes for several seconds. He seemed disappointed but not discouraged by the lack of stag.

"Maybe that was too hard," he suggested.

"Harry," Rami began.

"NO!" he shouted. "Let me do this, I know I can! Okay, I'm going to levitate the blanket off that bed. Ready?"

"Harry, you don't have to do this!"

"I'm NOT going to live with Pettigrew! I'm NOT!"

Rami shook his head. "All right, one more go at it, Harry, and then … well, we'll see what we can do from there."

Harry nodded. "Right. One … two … three … WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

Rami closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life. _Please let me be wrong … please let it work_ …

He and Harry opened their eyes at the same moment. Nothing was hovering in midair – nothing had happened.

* * *

Harry stared aghast at his wand. Something was wrong. Voldemort must have done something … 

The walls were closing in on him …

Harry barely registered the painful way his head hit the floor as he fainted.

_

* * *

Harry's fingertips scrambled at the frosted glass surrounding him. They tried to seek an escape, but the opaque walls yielded no way out. He was going to go mad in here, watching darkened shadows leap beyond the confines of his box … _

_I won't, I won't …_

_And then suddenly the walls collapsed. _

_No, not really. The frost merely melted away, piling like the Invisibility Cloak in a shimmering heap on the floor. The frost-dust coated Harry's shoes, but that was okay because he could finally see what was happening outside the box._

_He was back at Hogwarts – finally! – in the Great Hall, watching the Sorting. The first years were so tiny. Standing near the Hufflepuff table was one boy who looked like he might belong in Ron's family; he certainly had the hair to prove it! Or – was that …?_

_Was that Ron? _

_Yes, yes it was! There was first-year Ron and there was first-year Harry next to him and first-year Hermione standing a little farther away, and there was first-year Malfoy and his entourage, and a small group of first-year Ravenclaws … Well, soon-to-be Ravenclaws. They hadn't been Sorted yet. _

_The frost resurrected itself, rising from the floor of Harry's glass box to swathe the walls again. This time, Harry knew it was useless to try and get out; the magic of the box was probably jinxed not to let him. He sat down and leaned against one wall, closing his eyes to try and block out the awful whiteness of swimming through memory. The white was blinding him, even with his eyes closed._

_When the frost fell away again, Harry stared out at the Quidditch pitch where he and Ron zoomed after one another thirty feet in the air; Hermione sat disconsolately in the stands with a book. _

_How old are we? Harry wondered. It must be at least second year. I already have the scar on my chin that Voldemort gave me when I tried to get the Philosopher's Stone away from him._

_Harry was flung in and out of memories quicker now. He mostly saw images of regular, daily life around the castle, or what passed as daily life for him. His last memory was of waving goodbye to a grieving Weasley family this past June as Uncle Vernon led him away from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters._

_Grieving – Mr. Weasley …_

_Harry knew without knowing that he didn't have much time before the pressure of all his memories forced its way into his box and no frost in the world could keep it out. _

_He would drown._

* * *

After Nurse assured him that Harry would be all right and would awake sometime the next morning, Dr. Rami retreated into his quarters for the nights. He was reclining in the bathtub now, something he hardly ever did, trying to muster the energy to pull himself out, dry himself off, and put himself to bed. 

For a second in Harry's dormitory, for just one second, Rami had himself convinced that Harry really could do magic. Absolutely nothing would have made him happier than to find out that Harry was some sprite, some magical being switched at birth. He would have loved to believe that Harry's true place in life was in fairy court; Rami would have loved to believe that all he had to do was restore the prince or duke or jester to his rightful place and then all would be right in the world.

At least that option was now out of the question.

Rami took a deep breath of the steam rising out of the hot water as he mentally composed a to-do list.

One, help Harry slowly abandon the imaginary world he'd built for himself. That meant destroying Harry's image of himself and most of the imaginary people he knew and trusted. That meant ensuring that Harry had someone near him he could trust. A real person.

Two, help Harry deal with the issues facing him in this world, namely feelings of abandonment and neglect. The boy's family had never seemed emotionally supportive. They never stopped by to see him or sent packages, or letters, even! The emotional neglect was probably what had led Harry to create an imaginary world for himself in the first place.

What happened to Harry at school certainly didn't help matters either.

_I told the Headmaster not to be so hard on him …_

Three, help Harry adjust to living with the Petrovitches. Who were all recovering from their own emotional devastation over Peter and Dana's divorce. Who were, by the way, coming over to the school again later that afternoon.

Four, Rami added, write to Alice and tell her I might not make it to her house this summer after all.

* * *

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